Part 2 of SCOGAN. I should add it was the entire 5-part series that took 11 months, not each individual part.
This was the point when I originally intended to start having them have sex, but then I realized (again, with MadSlasher's help) that Scott and Logan have way too much history to just blithely hop into the sack together.
So I wrote this chapter as a justification...Slasher and I coined it a "Heart-To-Heargument." Basically, how do you reconcile hating someone and wanting to fuck them senseless at the same time?
~*~
Logan had no sooner turned on the hot water for his shower than a scent assailed his nostrils. Summers. Great. Fucking spectacular. I'd just gotten myself calmed down, too.
But something was different about Scott's scent this time...he didn't give off the usual hot smell of anger or the cold sterility of command. No, what Logan smelled this time was...
I don't fuckin' believe this.
"You're kidding me. Fucking kidding me."
He turned to face the man leaning against the partition between showers and locker room. Scott stood there in the pants of his costume, his shirt mysteriously absent. His tanned, toned chest was sprinkled with a light dusting of auburn hair...it looked almost naked next to the forest of black hair on Logan's torso. He wore no outward expression, there was no physical sign of it...but lust and pheromones exuded from him in stronger waves than Logan had ever smelled.
"Summers, yer a fuckin' dick, y'know that?!"
Their gazes locked, the Canadian's eyes a baleful, frigid ice blue. Under any other circumstance...with anyone, anyone else on the team...Logan would have been flattered, might even have reciprocated. But not him. Not now.
"You're going to have to be a little more clear. How exactly am I a dick?" Scott stayed calm, his voice neutral and level, but Logan could feel his eyes boring into him as if the shades weren't there at all.
"You're shittin' me! First ya chew me out fer something I didn't ask fer help with, an' now yer in here smellin' like a closet case in a queer bar."
Scott didn't look away. His face flushed slightly under the shades, but his gaze and tone stayed cool, level.
"I saw your fight. It...it was..." The taller man swallowed, trying to force the words out.
Now impatient as well as irritated, Logan cut him off. "You were spyin' on me, saw me get my suit blasted off, and figured out you liked whatcha saw. Ain't that special."
His tone, his posture, his glare...all the signs made it perfectly, cuttingly clear that he did not find it special. But Scott didn't back down. He must have been humiliated, torn apart inside by the implicit rejection, but Logan couldn't drive him away.
Can't the asshole take a hint? the feral thought, even as he felt the room get just a little bit warmer.
"What the fuck d'you want, Summers?! No, don't answer that, I know what the fuck you want. What I don't get iswhy you fuckin' want it from the team fuck-up. Go pound yer goddamn wife through the mattress...or if yer thinkin' ya want a taste of cock, go give the Cajun a buzz. He'll fuck anythin' that breathes, long as it..."
"I don't want Gambit, and I don't want Jean. Not right now." Scott's voice cut through Logan's ranting like a blade of ice. More out of shock than anything else,
Logan's mouth snapped shut. Taking advantage of his silence, Scott kept talking. "Look, Logan...I saw what you were up against. I realized that I see it every day, every hour even. That battle, back in the Danger Room...it never ends, does it? You're always on the edge, always fighting that thing inside you down, just to get through the day."
"Terrific. Yer comin' on ta me with a head-shrinkin' session. No thanks, One-Eye. I get my fill o'those with Charley, and I ain't fuckin' him either."
Turning on his heel, Logan stormed for the door, still naked and seemingly completely oblivious to the fact. For a minute, Scott thought Logan would head all the way out and be on his motorcycle before he even realized he wasn't wearing anything.
"Wait...please."
Something in his voice made Logan stop dead. He turned back. Scott realized it, too...in all the time they'd worked together, all the time they'd known each other, he'd never once simply asked anything of his teammate. Politeness seemed wasted on Wolverine, so Cyclops had never bothered. Maybe I should start.
Not wanting to waste this opportunity, Scott started again. "Look, Logan...we don't get along. I call you on a lot of things because I have to. That doesn't mean I enjoy it. It's my job to keep the team together and functioning...not to mention alive. What you did...taking off to fight a hopeless battle, alone, without leaving a clue where you're going...we only came after you because we were worried about you. That's what a team does, what friends do...watch each other's backs. And your back needed watching."
The shorter man let out a long, slow breath. As much as he didn't want to hear this, he knew Scott was right. Ororo, Kitty, Hank, Kurt, Remy...he'd put all of them in danger. And for what? Another glimpse of his past, another piece to a puzzle he might never fully put together?
"...Sorry. I'm sorry. I fucked up. That whatcha wanna hear, Slim?" He was still snarling, but his eyes had gone back to their usual deep brown color. Scott loved Logan's eyes when they were that color.
He didn't say that out loud, though. What he did say was, "Thank you."
After a moment, he took a deep breath. "Look...the truth is, I hate the job. Or that part of it anyway. I hate being the disapproving boss, the oppressive leader who crushes free will under my boot heel. Your independence, your refusal to be caged, your defiance...it's the most beautiful fucking thing I've ever seen and just makes me want to scream, 'take me now you magnificent fucking bastard!'"
Logan smirked at the awkwardness of Scott's statement, but he could smell that the man wasn't lying. He was attracted to all the things that drove him crazy.
The man's a complete fucking masochist...No. He gets off on what he can't have.
Logan looked at Scott, seeing the shades that hid the man's eyes. That had to hide them. Complete control. That was what Scott had to have, every second of every day. And the Canadian realized that he wasn't that different from his boss after all.
What?! Fuck, I gotta wash my brain out with bleach now...
"Every time I have to call you on it...keep you from doing something I know the Professor wouldn't like, or shut you down for the good of the team...it hurts, you know that? I want to keep them safe...I have to watch out for them...but it still hurts like a fucking bitch."
Scott's eyes were on him, soul bared. Logan shifted uncomfortably under the gaze...he'd never heard the other man say anything like this...hell, he'd never known the stiff, stern leader had this side to him. The words that came next were stilted...almost forced...but Logan made himself say them anyway.
"...Yer a damn good leader. Only one I met so far I didn't wanna pop a claw through. You fight good when yer in a pinch...hell, you fight yer own battles an' don't stand onna sidelines while we do yer work for ya. Ya may make me wanna take off more'n I wanna stay, but'cha don't force me t'stick around either."
It was the truth. Every word of it. The feral, insubordinate rebel felt respect for the stern, uncompromising leader, and now he'd gone and said it. Logan searched Scott's face for triumph, smugness, any excuse to take it all back and go back to being the gruff loner.
Instead, all he heard was, "Thank you, Logan. That means...a lot."
No triumph. No vindictiveness. He wasn't smug or self-satisfied. All Logan saw...all he smelled...was Scott. His face wasn't being rubbed in his admission...he hadn't lost an ounce of masculinity or self-sovereignty. Scott just listened, and acknowledged, and showed gratitude for Logan's respect.
Just like I always wanted. He takes my respect an' gives it right back ta me. More'n that...
The sharp scent of Scott's arousal was still in the air, and Logan blinked, remembering one point that was never actually addressed.
"Why, Slim? What makes ya so hot fer me? You got the whole team at'cher beck an' call, an' every girl on it willin' t'give it up fer you with the snap of a finger."
"But you aren't," Scott said, "and that's what I like about you. To Cyclops, leader of the X-Men, you're a fucking headache waiting to happen."
Logan smirked at this, and shrugged. "I do my level best."
Scott continued as if he hadn't heard him. "But to me...to Scott...you're a goddamn ideal brought to life. You don't let anything control you... not me, not it...and that's beautiful. I want that. I want you. Not to control you or put down that incredible force inside you...but to share it with you, as an equal. More than that...I'm sick and tired of fighting with you when all I can think about is how goddamn much I want you to fuck me."
Logan's ears pricked up. He'd finally admitted it. Given voice to the hormones that were making the feral lightheaded with their thickness. Looking at him, he could see that a massive weight had lifted off Scott's shoulders from that admission. Now he looked like a completely different person...still wanting, still impassioned, but more free about it, less afraid to speak his own mind.
Now, he looked like someone Logan could lust after. The Canadian smiled. Words had served their purpose and were no longer needed. Still naked, he crossed the room and scooped Scott up into his arms, grasping the back of his neck and bending him down for a fierce, passionate kiss, one the team leader returned with gusto, moaning into Logan's mouth as his hands were suddenly everywhere on the compact, hirsuite body.
No more barriers. No more arguments. No Wolverine, no Cyclops. It was going to just be them tonight. Just Scott and Logan.
He was going to enjoy this.
~TBC~
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